


Inhale

by Sincerely_Sierra



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Beating, Blood, Consent Issues, Domestic Discipline, F/F, PTSD, Scars, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28018797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sincerely_Sierra/pseuds/Sincerely_Sierra
Summary: Cordelia feels the need to spank Madison for disobeying her. She goes further than intended this time.
Relationships: Cordelia Foxx | Cordelia Goode & Madison Montgomery, Zoe Benson/Madison Montgomery
Comments: 14
Kudos: 36





	Inhale

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, friends. I’m here with this ridiculously painful story. It’s taken me weeks to finish, but since my mom has COVID and I’m taking care of her in quarantine for the rest of the year, I have plenty of time. 
> 
> This was requested a few times. A year ago, I wrote “Breathe,” a story of Cordelia punishing Mallory. In that story, there’s a brief mention of a “bad night with Madison.” This is the bad night with Madison. You don’t need to read Breathe to understand this one. 
> 
> I tagged this as abuse, because I see it as such. Keep in mind that there’s a difference between a spanking and a beating. There’s abuse of power, a beating, and blood in this story, as well as plenty of crying. If you suffered physical abuse or are queasy with blood and the beating of other people, don’t read this. 
> 
> —Sincerely, Sierra

A burnt lamp, a dismantled 1950s desk, and a shredded curtain have been claimed as Madison’s latest victims in her telekinetic tantrum over Cordelia refusing to allow her out of her bedroom with the rest of the witches for the house party tonight due to her ongoing insubordination.

The warlocks are paying a brief visit this evening for the coven’s end of summer house party hosted by the one and only supreme. Though the idea of the warlocks’ testosterone invading the house disgusts the witches, Cordelia insists they leave things on good terms rather than giving the warlocks another reason to hang them up by their toes for the most minor of inconveniences. 

It doesn’t matter to Madison. Cordelia won’t let her out and has placed a deep enchantment on the door locks as well as the window locks to prevent her from tossing herself from the second story in a vain attempt to flee her confines. Cordelia believes in time-outs and the “think about what you’ve done” approach, which Madison finds to be incredibly isolating and futile, because guilt doesn’t work on Madison. 

Her most recent timeout has been continuous for well over an hour, and if Cordelia were to see the destruction she’s done to the bedroom, she would be roasting over an open fire right about now. She only feels singled out when she rolls over on her bed and lays eyes on Zoe’s long, black dress and hat hanging on the bathroom door. How is Zoe going to get in here with the locks being enchanted? Perhaps that’s Madison’s only escape. She makes it a mission to wait patiently and make a run for it as soon as Zoe comes to change. 

An hour and a half of her being confined to her bed without her phone or laptop passes in agony for Madison. Her hands tangle in her thick hair and start tugging from the roots as she bangs her head on the wall. When she falls against it, her head throbbing with anguish, she hears faint giggling from the connected room. She slides down the wall and sits there in the destruction she caused, glass shards and ripped fabric tangling her legs and ankles. She kicks a large chunk of glass away and yelps in pain. Grabbing her leg from her ankle, she runs a finger along the small cut on her heel. The blood trickles down her finger in a smooth river and tastes sweeter than candy when she suckles and swallows it down. 

“Too bad Madison can’t come to the party,” says the coven’s newest protégée, Mallory, from behind the wall as Madison is drinking her blood. “But it’s her own fault for never listening and constantly bullying other people. She called me a munchkin and then said the ‘R’ word in front of me. She deserves soap in her mouth.”

Tears sting Madison’s eyes. She didn’t mean to let that slur slip from her mouth, and Mallory knew it to be true, but she only wanted a reason to despise Madison to further her good girl act, and Madison vaguely understands her desire to better than the others, because of Cordelia’s favoring and grooming to be the next supreme, which no one is a stranger to. But it is not fair. 

The locks begin to rattle. Cordelia quietly enters the room, a ring of keys wrapped around her finger, as she gently pushes Zoe into the room. Madison pathetically crawls to the door, finding it difficult to get there in time to knock Cordelia out of the way and run for it, thanks to a cut heel. 

Cordelia’s heavy boot stops the younger witch in her tracks, and if her shoes weren’t so menacing, Madison would disregard them. Madison’s eyes flick up to her supreme, a ball in her throat as Cordelia glowers down at her with the rage of a serial killer. Madison feels her heart begin to flutter in her chest, and she doesn’t have to look back at the damage to understand what might be next for her. Cordelia’s curled fist is indication that she has found herself in hot water. 

“What have you done?” Cordelia hisses. “I leave you alone for an hour and you destroy your bedroom? This is exactly why you can’t join the party. Do you understand you are only making this worse for yourself, Madison Montgomery?” 

Her full name leaving Cordelia’s mouth hurts worse than sitting the party out when she looks so good. Cordelia rarely acknowledges her last name, as it is only a reminder of the life Madison once had when she was under stage lights and wearing skimpy outfits to please the pedophilic masses jacking off to her scenes and the old, filthy men who would catcall her on the street. 

“Zoe?” Cordelia asks after a moment of seething towards Madison in rage. The brunette witch eyes her supreme with difficulty, understanding how frustrated she is with Madison. “Please get your outfit and leave us be. I have something to take care of.” 

Leaving a gentle kiss on Madison’s head, Zoe grabs her dress and shoes, with her hat on her head, and leaves the stagnant room, ensuring to keep the door tightly shut. Knowing Zoe or the rest of the witches won’t be hearing anything, Cordelia takes Madison by the arms and sits her on her bed, kneeling before her. 

“Why did you do this?” Cordelia questions, her voice gentle but firm. “I left you alone to consider what you did. I didn’t leave you alone so you could destroy our home, Madison.” 

“I learned my lesson,” Madison mumbles under her breath, swinging her feet against the fluffy bed skirt. “I wanted to leave, but you wouldn’t let me. So I got mad and broke some stuff. I couldn’t control my temper. Sorry.”

Cordelia is nearly awe stricken by Madison’s open honesty, and for a brief moment, she wishes she could let her off with a fair warning just this once, but she’s aware of the dire consequences of that, and so she composes herself enough to keep a hard stare that shrinks Madison into the ground. 

“There will be no more apologies. Do you understand that? You don’t get the privilege of destruction and get away with it as if it doesn’t matter because you said two words to me,” Cordelia scolds. “You’re going to clean this up by the time the party is over. I don’t care how you clean it up, but you need to do it. When I get back up here, we are going to have a long talk. If I see you before I come up here, you will be in so much trouble you won’t even be able to sit properly. Are we clear?”

The threat remains clear in the air. Madison sniffles and chokes back a sob as her untreated heel aches. She nods and covers her face to hide the salty rivers streaming down her cheeks. Cordelia nods in acceptance, pausing to give Madison’s bicep a quick pinch. The younger woman shrieks and covers the fire red area with her palm. Her glassy eyes meet the supreme’s for a quick second, and for another moment, Madison sees nothing but hate there. She shivers, though that’s very typical of Cordelia and she should be used to it at this point. But she isn’t, and it hurts deeply to know Cordelia has the power of hate when Madison knows how balmy and loving she can be on her own terms. 

“Sit here and think about what you have done,” Cordelia growls. 

The way the supreme’s deep brown eyes darken with such contempt frightens Madison, causing the latter to flinch as Cordelia slams the door. She hears the mechanics of the locks turning, effectively confining Madison with her thoughts once again, as she flips back on the bed and stares at the ceiling with tears leaking from her eyes. She doesn’t bother wiping them away this time, fearing it will hurt worse if she does try. Instead she lies there like a rotten log in the woods, unmoving and undeserving of any attention. 

She rolls over on her side and focuses her mind on the torn shreds of curtains. As her eyes clench shut, she feels the rhythmic power flowing through her veins, and then the curtains are suddenly back on the rod, untouched and swaying in the light breeze coming from the air conditioner unit that keeps the room a steady seventy degrees, much to Zoe’s pleasure. Not so much Madison’s. But that doesn’t matter. 

With a flick of her wrist, the desk is mantled once again and stood in the corner where Zoe usually grades papers. Madison finds herself twisting and turning to repair the room at the speed of light, though the busted lightbulb is the hardest to mend. But she accomplishes it well enough, enough where no one could tell she destroyed anything in a temper tantrum like an infant needing milk. 

For the next hour, Madison spends her time on the floor listening to the bustling and laughing downstairs. The warlocks must have arrived, because she senses something uncertain about the atmosphere. Her heartbeat picks up when she hears the unmistakable booming laugh of a male. 

Cordelia said she couldn’t go downstairs; she never once said anything about looking out the window. Madison pushes herself up and sits on the wide windowsill, creasing the blinds with her fragile fingers. The gate to the school is wide open and unchained, unlike every other day, and there are several slick black cars lining the curb. Vomit rises in Madison’s throat. 

The plethora of noises overwhelm Madison; all the laughing, the music, the warlocks’ energy calling to her. She covers her ears with her hands and rocks back and forth on the sill, whispering an incantation to block the sounds from accumulating in her mind. In this moment she wishes she knew a spell to block out intrusive thoughts, such as the ones telling her the coven is going to be in trouble if she doesn’t act quickly enough to rescue them. 

Finally calming herself enough to stop shaking, Madison uncovers her ears and bravely looks out the window, only to find two warlocks quietly conversing on Cordelia’s freshly watered grass. Madison frowns and presses her face to the glass in a pathetic attempt to read their lips. 

Her hands find the tapered edge of the sill and yank upwards, finding that the enchantment failed. The window slides open a bit, much to Madison’s relief, and she crouches down so her eyes are peering out of the crack. 

“I will not do that, Ariel,” says one of the warlocks. His voice is raspy. “We are guests in her school. There will be no funny business tonight.”

“Behold, I only intend to scare them.”

Behold. Faintly in the back of her mind, Madison knows that name. From her time in hell prior to being rescued by the necromancer in a cheap flower crown? The erased timeline only she and Mallory seem to remember? 

“No. No scaring them,” says Behold, hastily, as if someone is watching them. “We need to be at peace with Cordelia and the witches. No funny business.”

Madison feels as though she may be sick. When the warlocks scurry into the house, she slams the window closed and slumps against it, tears flowing freely down her face as her shaky hands fumble for her phone. She curses to herself upon remembering she is being punished by Cordelia. 

“Fuck!” Madison screams to the lamp as she knocks it over with her little fist once again. She drops to the floor with it, landing with a satisfied thud. 

Music grows louder. It drowns out Madison’s sobs and timid cries for help while she’s stumbling about the room in mental agony. Somewhere in her weak mind there is a bit of strength left. She decides to suck up her tears and snot, and she pulls on her sneakers and throws off her sweater in case the tree branches don’t play fair with her escaping. Nothing has seemed to play fair with her as of late. 

Before Cordelia can change her mind about the locks, Madison opens the window all the way and clambers out slowly, her right arm reaching for the large branch that taps her window during storms. She wraps one leg around it like a sloth, then the other, and pushes herself down the girthed trunk with the rubber tips of her shoes until she’s aligned with the first story. Her skin is scraped and bleeding in areas by the time she has both feet on the damp grass. 

Cordelia’s large bay window in the front of the house is illuminated yellow with dancing shadows. Madison sucks in a sharp breath, maneuvering her achy body up the steps. Her shoulders heave with sputtered breaths. Sliding inside and slipping under the radar is much easier when no one is paying attention and she is underweight and tiny, according to her doctor, who prescribed her Pediasure that she refuses to drink because it’s slimy and for neglected children, not for a twenty-something. 

Zoe and Mallory are chatting quietly in the dining room, each holding a glass of moscato. Mallory never seemed like the type to drink before tonight, and that surprises Madison, but like everything else, Mallory is probably using it as a coverup for how boring and mundane she really is, with her dumb flower crowns and calligraphy. 

In the ancestral room, Cordelia is showing off the portraits to Behold and presumably Ariel. She, too, is nursing a glass of wine as she explains the history behind each supreme. The warlocks observe with sharp eyes as they wander about the room and admire the women glowering at them. 

“Gentlemen, feel free to have a look around. I’ll be around greeting my guests,” Cordelia says. 

Madison ducks behind the wall and squeezes her eyes shut, attempting to abracadabra herself out of here, but she is two seconds too late. She whines upon finding Cordelia at eye level with her. The supreme’s face is an unholy shade of red. The vein in her forehead throbs with her unresolved anger issues. 

“Madison Montgomery,” says the supreme through clenched teeth. Her eyes flash something dark and unlike heaven. “What did I tell you? You have not listened to me one bit this evening, and you are deserving of punishment. You won’t be able to sit for a week.”

“No, please! I can explain!” Madison cries mercilessly, tugging Cordelia’s dress like a child whining for ice cream. 

Cordelia slaps her hands away and grabs her chin. Madison whimpers, horrified that Cordelia is putting such a rough hand on her like this. She would never touch Mallory or Zoe this way, would she? 

“No more explanations or excuses from you. You disobeyed me, and you know you must suffer the consequences,” Cordelia hisses. She polishes off her glass and sets it on the end table. “Now I must excuse myself so I can deal with you.” 

Holding Madison’s hand, Cordelia catches the warlocks’ attention by clearing her throat. She smiles warmly, a contrast that terrifies Madison, and nods in approval. 

“Gentleman, take your time. I’m afraid I have an urgent manner to discuss with my young ward here. If you need anything at all, feel free to let Zoe or Queenie know,” offers the supreme. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Of course, Cordelia,” Behold replies. His eyes meet Madison’s, and they lock there for the minute she is being dragged up the stairs by Cordelia. 

Cordelia’s office is never a good sign of anything. It’s unnaturally cold and dark. Cordelia enchants the locks and soundproofs the entire room with her open hand. Madison knows the drill; she sits on the largest couch available and rubs her sweaty palms on her thighs, taking a deep, slow breath. The atmosphere is intimidating and causes Madison to feel queasy and sick. Her nights in Cordelia’s office always end in bruises and a sore bottom. 

The supreme comes to sit next to her and tips her back so she can see her eyes. Madison fights the urge to look away, certain her punishment will be a thousand times worse if she breaks the contact. 

“You’ve gone too far this time, Madison,” Cordelia sighs in disappointment. “I told you to do one simple thing and you disobeyed me. I’ve had it with you. What I’ve been doing isn’t working anymore. So I have to go even further and make you see who is really in charge here.”

“I’m sorry! I heard—“ Madison’s pleas are censored by a quick slap to her cheek, sending her head twisting around like The Exorcist. She cries out in pain and clutches her cheek. She gives a subtle whimper that falls on deaf ears. “I’m sorry.”

“Enough. I don’t care what you heard, what you saw. You had no business leaving your room,” says the supreme as she stands up. She opens the large drawer of her desk and pulls out a studded belt and wooden paddle hairbrush. 

Madison’s breath hitches and she swallows with difficulty. How long were those hiding in there? Though she’s somewhat familiar with the hairbrush, she’s never seen one so. . .oaky. “I’m sorry. . .”

Cordelia understands Madison’s fear as she kneels down and grabs her hands. Her voice is gentle with her next words, as if Madison may break underneath her. “I’m sorry, too, sweetheart. I’m sorry I haven’t been doing enough to help your behavior. But that ends now. I want you naked, over my lap, and still.”

Sobbing into her palm, Madison sinks to the floor at Cordelia’s feet like an obedient dog obeying to its master. She rocks back and forth there, her hands over her head as if Cordelia intends to beat her with a switch. She’s very sorry, but why won’t Cordelia accept that she’s sorry? Is Madison incapable of feeling remorse? She is sorry, and she wishes someone would take the time to understand that. 

“Madison,” demands Cordelia. Her hand clutches the belt. “Now.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Madison blubbers into the shag carpet. “I’m sorry!”

“Too late. Remove your clothes. Now.”

Rising to her feet, Madison fumbles with her leggings, pushing them down to her ankles, followed by her faded tee. She’s left exposed, with only her bikini underwear left. She knows Cordelia needs those off most of all, so she pulls them off and leaves herself nude for Cordelia to abuse. Very rarely does the supreme request complete nudity, usually satisfied with just a bare bottom, but when she does request a naked body, Madison knows she’s in for a doozy. 

“I’m not going to coddle you during this,” Cordelia forewarns. “You are going to lean over the arm of the couch and take what’s coming with grace. You’re getting fifteen with the brush and twenty with the studded side of the belt. Are we clear?”

“Yes,” says Madison. 

“Yes what?”

Madison swallows and feeds Cordelia’s power trip. “Yes, ma’am.”

Though Cordelia does not divulge into detail about why Madison is receiving so many swats this time, Madison folds herself over the arm and bites into the decorative pillow. The pillow already has several bite indentations from the witches when they receive their fair share of spankings. Madison is certain every illness passed around the coven stemmed from this pillow. 

“Breathe, sweetheart,” Cordelia instructs. 

The wood swings down on Madison’s nude bottom before she can properly breathe. She whines and continues to bite the pillow as Cordelia delivers the next hit, which is harder and echoey this time. The supreme is alternating sides, which angers Madison, because she knows sitting and using the restroom will be difficult for the next few days. 

“You have been a terrible little girl,” Cordelia murmurs to the young witch as she hits her a third time. “You should be ashamed.” Four. 

The sofa is littered with tears at this point. The shame is worse than the hitting is, and that is a large statement. Madison bravely accepts the first twelve swats on the seat of her body, but when Cordelia finally reaches fifteen, Madison is scrambling to escape like she did earlier this evening. Her feet dig into the carpet and give her a little boost as she does a roll and tumble over the arm of the couch, landing on the cushions. 

“Madison Montgomery!” Cordelia shouts as she drops the brush with a thump. She grabs her ward by a chunk of hair and repositions her kicking and screaming over the sofa again, this time enchanting her to remain in place. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please, no more! No more hitting! No more! Please stop!” begs the smaller blonde. “Please, Cordelia! Please! No hit! No hit!”

The gut wrenching feeling of something maternal in Cordelia’s belly pities the poor thing, and though it stings Cordelia to have to do this to someone so tiny and malnourished and who just might collapse if she strikes her one more time, the supreme perseveres with the punishment, and surrenders the brush in favor of the belt. 

Madison screams into the cushion. Her bottom is red and cracked and will need a salve once this is done with, but Cordelia pushes that thought away for the moment, reminding herself to be present in this minute. 

“You’re receiving twenty-five now. Five more for moving,” explains the supreme. “Breathe.”

The initial smack isn’t too harsh, considering Madison may not be able to take all twenty-five without needing an intermission to catch her breath and for Cordelia to wipe the blood from her skin. Cordelia hits her thrice more, the final one being the worst of the bunch. The studs leave circles along Madison’s swollen butt cheeks. 

“Please! Stop! I’m so sorry! I’m a bad person and I’ll never do it again! I’m so sorry! Please! It hurts so badly!”

Madison’s behind has taken the force of the hits. Rather than forfeiting, Cordelia retires from Madison’s butt and moves to her back. The first four hits there are harsh and lined creatively along her spine, causing Madison to wail in agony as she attempts to find a peaceful medium to move to. She can’t move, and even if she could, it would be useless. She’s powerless under Cordelia’s belt. Cordelia is one step ahead of her every time, and it pisses Madison off. 

“You should’ve thought about this before,” says the supreme. “Breathe, honey.”

“No! No more!”

Smack! Cordelia swats the back of Madison’s pale thighs with the belt, satisfied with the sickening crack it makes when it collides with the flesh. Madison howls and attempts to shift around but can only move her head to one side to give herself a pathetic view of her punishment. She twists to look at the woman who is spanking—no, beating—her, and her heart shrivels when she finds no love or compassion in Cordelia’s features. 

Why doesn’t she love me like the others? Madison wonders to herself as Cordelia takes a deep breath before continuing her ministrations. She would never hurt them like this. 

The twenty-fifth hit is quite possibly the most agonizing thing Madison has ever felt in her years of walking this earth. She’s uncertain if Cordelia hit her or lit a match this time. Either way, she’s screaming and writhing in her honest tribulation, the overwhelming amount of sensations across her body sending her mind into a type of overdrive that causes her to see stars. Her hands reach her ears and shield them from whatever Cordelia might have to say, because one more sound may force Madison to lose what little sanity she has left. 

After lifting the enchantment on the young woman’s body, Cordelia takes a step back to marvel at her work. She intended to be satisfied and appreciative of herself, but she’s instead mortified by how Madison writhes and wails in agony. The younger witch slides to the floor on her knees and rocks back and forth with her head in her hands. 

Skin stretches as Madison uses her favorite coping mechanism, and Cordelia’s stomach flips at the sight of the large gashes lining Madison’s swollen buttocks. The supreme cannot fathom that she herself has done this to Madison. The wounds are bleeding and Madison is more than just injured at this point. 

Panicking is the first thing Cordelia does. She paces about the room, stepping over the bloodied belt and splintered brush. Mumbling words of assurance to herself, Cordelia picks up the weapons she wielded and shoves them into the drawer, her hands coming up red and sticky. She swallows thickly and moves onto Madison, kneeling down. 

Madison is curled on the rug. She can’t move her legs without screaming or her arms without whining. Her eyes are soaked with tears when they find Cordelia and hold a dreadful stare, and she fears the absolute worst, that Cordelia is not done with her just yet. She flinches once and whimpers when Cordelia places a hand on her cheek.

“I need to get you cleaned up,” Cordelia hastily whispers, seemingly forgetting the room is soundproofed. Her dark eyes shift around the room. “Come on.” 

What makes Cordelia think Madison can maneuver herself? The girl is laying on the floor, her backside completely mutilated and her wounds gaping open like a monster’s mouth. She’s not being disobedient; she simply can’t move. 

Cursing to herself, Cordelia places her hands under Madison’s armpits and pulls her into a sitting position. Madison’s ribs ripple against her flesh, and Cordelia sickeningly stares in awe of how small Madison genuinely is. Her bones are very visible and her skin is jaundiced in some areas. 

Though she is completely exhausted, Madison manages to pull herself into a position to stand, rocking on her feet, and then she remembers her heel. She quietly whimpers and wordlessly falls against Cordelia’s chest, wondering when the supreme will say enough is enough. 

“Come with me,” says Cordelia. “I have to get you dressed.”

Despite all better judgment, Madison stupidly finds herself floating in Cordelia’s arms. She thinks she’s dying, but when Cordelia rocks her from side to side, she’s brought back to the present, and she’s suddenly not dying, unfortunately so. The soothing motion of being cradled like an infant is unlike any other, and Madison feels herself melting into the embrace. Is this how both safe and petrified she felt when she was held by human arms for this first time? 

The house is full. Cordelia won’t be able to leave this room holding beaten, naked Madison without someone causing a scene or retching at the sight. She closes her eyes, breathes, and suddenly they find themselves in Madison’s room. Cordelia lays the young witch on her bed and shuts the window, then draws the curtains. 

Delirious does not begin to describe how this all seems to Cordelia. The blood on her hands is now dried and sticky, and Madison’s bottom looks as though she sat in red paint, and Cordelia disgusted with herself, but in the forefront of her mind, she understands there is no time for guilt, only cleanup. 

“Madison,” says the supreme, almost too desperately, “I’m going to run a bath for you. I want you to get in it and stay there while I create a salve for you.” 

Madison moans in acceptance. At this point, she’ll accept anything Cordelia tells her, so long as she doesn’t get another beating. She does not want another beating. She wants to be held by Zoe and have her hair smoothed back while Zoe showers her in love. She misses Zoe, because Zoe is the only person who would disapprove of this. 

Water runs and steam fills the air as the tub is filled to the brim with hot water. Cordelia doesn’t add fragrance or bubbles in fear of it upsetting Madison’s wounds and causing her to cry and draw attention to them. She shuts off the taps and hurries to lift Madison in her arms, and she deposits her in the water, allowing her to lean against the side. 

Madison whimpers as Cordelia leaves her alone in the water tinted with red. The supreme easily transmutes out of the room, and then it’s quiet and a blanket of calm falls over Madison. She watches as the water swirls with blood—her own blood—and finds herself thirsty, but not thirsty enough to swallow this filthy water. 

If Cordelia hadn’t taken her phone, Madison would call for Zoe, not to snitch, but to get some assistance with washing her injuries and getting into a fresh pair of pajamas so she can rest properly. But that would spell bad news for Cordelia, and Madison’s fear of Cordelia hitting her this way ever again placates her enough that she chooses to remain silent. 

A century and a half passes by in slow burning misery for Madison before Cordelia is hurrying back with a jar of something slimy and gray in her hands. It almost looks like moon mud. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up and warm,” says Cordelia. 

She sets the jar aside and pulls Madison from the tub before pulling the plug on the drain and watching the crimson swirl away, and she silently throws her fears in with it. It drains and Cordelia wraps Madison in her fleece bathrobe, toweling off her hair and taking a brief moment to look in her eyes. They’re full of tears and wandering about the room, on anything but her supreme. 

“Please. . .don’t hit me again,” Madison sleepily pleads. 

“I’m not, Madison. I promise,” Cordelia says, almost begging for Madison’s forgiveness. She grabs the jar and shifts focus to Madison’s wounds. “Okay, I need to get this salve on you.”

Madison whines almost the entirety of the time Cordelia is carrying her to bed again. The supreme lays her belly-down and undoes the robe, her heart fluttering as she exposes Madison’s once-flawless butt. Her eyes rake over the cuts and welts and bloodstains, and she chokes back a panicked sob. 

Cordelia realizes she’s out of time. The salve will work for the cuts but not so much the welts. Though unsure if Madison and Zoe are sexually active yet, Cordelia makes it a priority to keep Madison as unblemished as possible, just in case Zoe is going down on the blonde and is surprised with scars and gashes. Cordelia swallows her vomit.

“It might sting a little,” says the supreme. 

“Moon mud,” Madison mumbles into her pillow. 

Cordelia’s brows furrow as she’s massaging the salve into Madison’s flesh. Her hands knead and press with enough force to relax Madison into becoming drowsy. 

“Moon mud?” asks Cordelia. 

“Whenever I got hurt on set. . .or trying to ride my bike like a normal kid and got hurt, my nanny would put some weird cream on my cuts and bruises. She called it moon mud. She was a really spiritual woman and said. . .” Madison takes a deep breath as Cordelia touches a painful spot on her back. “She said it was made by the immortal women who live on the moon. They dig up the moon’s surface and pour it in water so it’s like slime, and they send it back to earth to heal wounds of the mortals. It worked every time.” 

“I hope to never need to use this on you again, but if you’d like, you can call it moon mud. I made this myself, though. An old recipe handed down from supremes much more brutal than I am,” Cordelia says. Guilt washes over her as she compares herself to the others. She may be no better than they were. 

Once the moon mud has been spread over Madison’s behind, Cordelia sits at the edge of the bed and brings Madison into her lap. Initially, Madison is spooked by the sudden gesture, but she visibly relaxes the more Cordelia holds her. The sensation of being held this close by anyone—even Zoe—is surreal for Madison. 

“I’m so sorry, Madison,” Cordelia says, sincerely. “I didn’t mean to hurt you that badly.”

Madison presses her face into Cordelia’s breast and lays her head there. As tender at this is, Cordelia can’t help but wish that it were not Madison here, that it were a baby of her own, that she tried for years to gain and failed each time. Vaguely, she wonders if she would ever punish her child the way she punished Madison. Being remorseful with Madison is enough; if Madison were a child, she would offer her a breast to calm her down and ask for silent forgiveness, but since Madison is older and past those days, Cordelia settles for letting her lay her head on her empty breasts. 

“You know why I did it, right?” Cordelia asks after awhile. “Madison?”

“Yes,” Madison mumbles in a gentle response. “I was being bad.”

“You were, but I shouldn’t have done that,” says Cordelia. “You have to understand, Madison, that I can’t begin to understand you. I don’t understand one thing about you. You are the most complicated witch I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“Not my fault,” Madison whines. 

Cordelia holds her impossibly closer. Her warmth is more than healing for Cordelia, and she’s selfish to think so, but she needs Madison more than Madison needs her. She needs reassurance from the younger witch that what she’s done can be undone and that she hasn’t lost was little trust Madison had in her before tonight.

“Please, Madison, I know it’s not your fault. It’s mine,” Cordelia admits. “I don’t understand you and I never will, so I get angry with you instead of reasoning with you because I’m frustrated. My first instinct when I see you is to yell and lay hands on you, because you’re too complex for me to handle.” 

It’s quite ironic how Cordelia prefers a boring, subtle witch over a complex, daring one. That would explain the supreme’s unhealthy obsession with Mallory, whom is constantly coddled and favored by every ward residing here. Cordelia praises those dumb flower crowns and hangs them as if they’re gold, and Madison’s efforts to eat properly go unnoticed. 

“So you like hurting me,” Madison spits at the floor. “You like seeing me in pain because I’m too hard to deal with. I get it now. I’m worthless to you because I’m different and complex. Well, good for you! Everybody is different! Even Mallory! We’re all hard in our own ways.”

“It’s not like that, Madison,” says Cordelia as she grabs the robe and drapes it over Madison’s body. 

“You hate me and I hate you, too. You’ll always love Mallory and all the others, and I’ll just be a problem for you, and whenever you need to release anger, you’ll take it out on me and beat me unconscious just like you did today,” Madison rattles off, pushing Cordelia away. Hot tears leak from her eyes, and her hands curl into fists and smack Cordelia’s chest. “I hate you!”

Cordelia wishes she could rethink her approach, though the damage has been done. With Madison’s fists pounding into her chest and Madison screaming incoherent obscenities at her supreme, Cordelia cannot begin to fathom how the young witch is feeling, nor can she begin to understand it. She simply holds Madison until she’s worn herself out and slumped against Cordelia’s chest like an exhausted child. 

“Madison, please calm down,” says the supreme. 

“No! I was trying to protect you and you wouldn’t listen! I heard the warlocks talking, and I was scared!” Madison wails. 

Cordelia’s arms wind impossibly tighter around the woman, and she frowns as Madison begins attacking her chest with the large claws she calls fingernails. 

“What were they saying?” Cordelia murmurs against Madison’s head.

Madison sniffles and takes a deep, shaky breath. “They. . .they were saying they wanted to scare us, but Behold said no. They didn’t say how they planned to scare us. I was worried they were gonna hurt you, or Zoe, or even Mallory.” 

Cordelia looks to the door for a split second before bringing Madison to her chest again. Madison stops clawing and thrashing and just lays against the supreme, the exhaustion of uncontrollable anger overtaking her body as she settles down. 

“Oh, Madison,” sighs Cordelia. “I placed many protection spells on the house before they got here. I have Zoe and Mallory on the lookout for any suspicious behavior. We’re going to be okay tonight. Did the warlocks happen to be outside of the house when you heard them?”

Madison nods. Is Cordelia attempting to find out if Madison was wandering for longer than she initially assumed? Whatever the case may be, Madison spends a solid minute of silence whimpering and whining. 

“They were outside because, if they were discussing harming us, the spell I placed on the house prevented them from speaking of it inside. That negative language is not allowed in this house,” Cordelia explains. “Believe me, Madison, I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”

Ironic, isn’t it? Madison bitterly sighs to herself as she nestles further into Cordelia. The way she still loves Cordelia, even after all this, the way she longs for her warmth and comfort and the solace of using her breasts as a pillow when she’s tired, those are all things that triumph above every shitty thing Cordelia has done or said to her, and that’s a large feeling to carry.

“Will you be good from now on, Madison?” asks Cordelia. 

What a loaded question that is, but regardless, Madison nods once more, to placate Cordelia and reassure her that she has no plans to destroy anything else. At least for now. Cordelia uses her finger to lift Madison’s chin, and she smiles somber, her eyes barely crinkling. 

“I’m so sorry I went so far tonight, Madison,” Cordelia reminds. “But you need to be good. I don’t enjoy hurting you. I don’t like seeing you cry. You need to behave, so I don’t have to do this ever again. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

The term of endearment sends a burst of warmth within Madison’s belly. Only Zoe ever coos to Madison with such names, but hearing it from Cordelia is so much different, much more maternal and natural, although Madison hates it with a passion. Nevertheless, she nods. 

“I’m going to join the rest of the party now. We can discuss more later. I think you’ve suffered enough tonight, but you are still forbidden from joining us. You, however, can have this.” Cordelia places Madison’s phone in her hand and closes her fingers around it. “For emergencies. If you see or hear anything, just text me, okay? You don’t have to take your anger out on everyone and everything, do you understand?”

“Yes,” Madison sniffles. “Yes, ma’am.”

Satisfied with Madison’s answer, Cordelia leaves a kiss on her forehead, moving to the door. She points to the jar of moon mud. “You can put some more on if you feel you need.” 

Madison nods and wipes her eyes like a scolded, wounded child. A still silence falls upon the room as the door closes, but Madison doesn’t hear the gears in the locks turning as she expected. She smiles the tiniest bit and forces herself up, hobbling to the bathroom after letting the robe fall to the floor. Her reflection in the mirror tells her she’s been to hell and back—literally—and her pale skin reveals she’s not had any sleep in years. 

She takes a look at her bottom, finding a portrait of bruises and cuts. Everything is covered in a grainy film of moon mud that is quickly drying and relieving her achy rear end like the women on the moon said it would. She runs her finger along the cuts and winces in agony. 

Managing to limp like a wounded bird back to the bedroom, Madison grabs a pair of cotton pajamas. She has trouble slipping the pants over her sore butt, so she kicks them off and resorts to one of Zoe’s large t-shirt dresses. It smells of the taller witch whom Madison sickeningly loves, and the way it feels against her hot skin is comforting. 

Will Zoe be angry about this when, or rather if, she finds out what has been done to Madison? Zoe seems to care slightly more than the others, because she shares a bed with Madison each night and wakes up to the blonde screaming and wailing at an invisible monster she claims hangs over her head during the night. Zoe has spent many a night and sunrise cradling Madison and rocking her back to a restless slumber, forfeiting her own sleep in favor of watching Madison attempt to remain asleep.

The bustle of the dinner party downstairs makes Madison uneasy. Fearing another spanking is the only thing that prevents Madison from escaping again, and because her bottom hurts too much to move. Madison lays on her side, avoiding anything touching her rear end. 

The door groans. Zoe peeks her head inside and emerges with a full wine glass in hand. She sets it on the dresser and moves to sit next to Madison, her hand lovingly coming up to brush the blonde sweaty hair from Madison’s face. 

“Are you alright?” Zoe inquires. “Cordelia said you got quite the punishment tonight.” 

Madison nods in embarrassment. She didn’t want Zoe to know, but she figures, if anyone could handle aftercare, it would be Zoe, because her disposition is much calmer when Madison is being relentless and a pain in the ass. 

“Yeah,” Madison croaks. “I’m okay. It hurts a little.” 

It hurts a lot, Madison wants to correct, but she doesn’t, assuming Zoe would throttle the supreme if she realizes what damage has been done. Though, it’s a little too late when Zoe is already reaching for the hem of the shirt, lifting it to expose Madison’s backside. Her mouth forms into a gaping hole and her eyes darken with anger. 

Madison relishes in Zoe’s anguish. Someone understands. Someone doesn’t agree with Cordelia’s choice. The supreme doesn’t have the privilege of always being right, at least, not when Zoe gets involved. 

“Madison. . .what happened? What did she do to you?” Zoe asks, distressed. “Please talk to me, babe. What happened?”

“She hit me with the paddle brush and then with a studded belt,” Madison whimpers. “She used the studded side so it would leave scars.” 

“Let me see, baby,” says Zoe, almost too desperate and already tugging Madison’s fresh underwear down to her knees. “Oh. . .”

“It hurts, Zoe,” Madison sniffles. “I know I was bad, but—but—“

“Hush,” says Zoe, pressing her lips against Madison’s. “You aren’t bad. You make bad choices sometimes, but you are not bad, okay? This isn’t acceptable. I know you have a silent agreement with Cordelia to spank you when you misbehave, but this goes beyond spanking. This was a beating. It’s abuse of power, Madison.”

“Abuse?” Madison wonders aloud. She doesn’t quite understand; she and Cordelia have an agreement for Madison to be disciplined whenever Cordelia deems necessary to keep her temper in check. 

“Yes, Madison. Abuse. It’s abuse, not a spanking. What was different between tonight and all the others?” 

Madison ponders between the blinding pain in her bottom and the ache in her head. She tries to recall her many spankings by Cordelia from the last few months. She can’t recall ever feeling this bruised and beaten afterwards. Normally she will feel just sore enough to think twice about ever making a mistake again, but never in so much pain she can’t even think at all.

“She hurt me a lot more. Most times she uses her hand or just the brush. But she hit me with a belt, a lot, and it hurt really bad,” Madison says, wincing as she does so. “I didn’t mean to make her angry.”

“It’s not your fault, baby,” assures Zoe. “You gave her consent to spank you with her hand or a brush. Did you consent to being hit with the belt?”

Madison shakes her head. She whines against Zoe’s chest. “No. I told her to stop, a lot of times. But she didn’t stop. It was like she was possessed. I was begging her, but she wouldn’t stop. It hurt so bad.”

Zoe’s eyes flash dark. She holds Madison closer and strokes her long, golden hair. She nestles her nose against Madison’s hairline and leaves little kisses here and there, a gesture that calms Madison down when she’s in distress. 

“This isn’t your fault, Madison,” repeats Zoe. “I knew something was wrong. I saw her running to the backdoor, and she had a jar of something when she came back. She wouldn’t answer me when I asked what happened.”

“I’m sorry, Zoe.”

Zoe shakes her head and presses a kiss to Madison’s forehead. “No. No sorry. She should be sorry, not you, okay? I’m going to talk to her. If she ever breaks your consent barriers ever again, you need to tell me. If she does something to you that you don’t like, or if it hurts more than it should, tell me. I don’t care if we have to leave. I’m not accepting this.”

Madison doesn’t understand just how violated her body feels. After being assaulted and sexually abused for the better half of her life, this shouldn’t come as a surprise or feel foreign, but it does, because she expected it from perverted directors and frat boys. Cordelia is supposed to love and accept Madison for all she is, but that seems to come with conditions. 

“I told her no. It hurt too much. She apologized when she realized how bad it was, but she said I need to stop being so bad,” Madison sniffles into Zoe’s chest, her face coming back with snot left there. Zoe cradles her girl close, allowing her to melt below her touch. “I’m sorry, Zoe.”

“No. No more apologies, okay? You didn’t do anything to deserve that treatment,” says Zoe as she kisses Madison’s face. Her cheeks are salty and wet. “How about I call it a night and lay with you? The warlocks aren’t that important.”

Madison attempts to contain her excitement and seal her joy up with a slight nod. Zoe chuckles and leaves one last kiss on her head before stripping herself of her dress. She kicks off her shoes and leaves herself clad in a bra and lace panties, moving up on the bed to cradle Madison against her breast. Nothing feels safer than this position for Madison.

“I love you, you know that, right?” Zoe asks. “No matter what you do, or what you say. I still have so much love for you, and I would never think of hurting you the way she hurt you. Never.”

Madison is familiar with this type of declaration, but something feels different with Zoe. Like she means it. Unlike Cordelia, Zoe seems genuine in promising to never hurt Madison until she’s bruised and battered. Zoe sometimes unintentionally raises her voice at Madison, but she has never laid a finger on her in a way that would mentally damage Madison. 

“I love you,” says Madison as she’s drifting off into a restless sleep. 

+++

Cordelia was right about one thing; Madison cannot sit down for the following week. During classes, she’s wincing and clenching her teeth to avoid thinking of the pain swelling in her pants. Despite being unable to run or sit or move her lower half, Madison uses it as a perfectly good excuse to lay on Zoe’s chest at the end of the day, when they’re curled up with the laptop and watching a movie together. 

“Zoe?” Madison murmurs one late evening, in the middle of Bee Movie. 

Zoe hums, her fingers stroking Madison’s hair. “What is it?”

“Did I deserve to be hit that much?” asks Madison. “I think I did. I ruined a lot of things and was being bratty. I deserve to be hit.”

“No, baby. You and Cordelia agreed on spankings to control your temper. Not beatings. She beat and abused you. I yelled at her for it,” Zoe assures. “She won’t ever do it again if she cares at all.”

“I’m sorry, Zoe.”

Zoe feels her heart skip a beat. She pauses the movie and brings Madison closer. The blonde witch nestles safely in her chest and closes her eyes. 

“No more of that, I told you. I warned Cordelia; if she does something like that or breaks consent again, we’re leaving, and I mean that,” Zoe tells Madison. She kisses Madison’s head, softly and easily. “Sleep, baby. You need it.” 

By the time Zoe is rocking Madison into a slumber, Madison is already far gone in her arms. Snapping her fingers, Zoe shuts the lights off and places the laptop on the nightstand, easing herself further into the covers. She’s careful with Madison’s wounds, and in the evening light, Zoe’s eyes prickle with tears as the setting sun shines upon the yellowing bruises and fading welts. 

Madison would disagree with her, but Zoe keeps a packed suitcase under the bed, just in case. Sometimes, she considers unpacking it, but her nimble fingers tracing Madison’s welts from the belt affirms her that she’s made the right choice for Madison. She doesn’t know exactly where they’ll go, if they have to go, but they will be alright, someday.


End file.
